Danger Nights

Chapter Five

"Taken?" John echoed. His heart, which had finally calmed after the ECT treatment ended, resumed its furious pounding. "Oh, God. It must have been the Consortium. Mycroft will-"

"I wasn't taken," a third voice piped up. "I merely disappeared so I could come here."

John and Anthea spun around in unison, shoes squealing on the floor and gasping in shocked relief. Alexei stood at the other end of the corridor, near the lifts. His narrow face was solemn and his hands rested in the pockets of the Armani leather jacket John and Mycroft had bought him at Harrods.

"What the hell are you doing here?" John demanded as he and Anthea hurried toward the teenager.

"I'm worried about Mycroft."

John knew that Alexei had come into Mycroft's life so unexpectedly, and at such an advanced age mentally as well as physically, that the traditional parent-child formalities never took root. They were on a first-name basis, and Alexei's freedom was only curtailed by necessary security measures. This liberal indulgence bothered John almost as much as the obsessive vigilance that Mycroft used to maintain over his younger brother. All kids, in his opinion, needed to know their limits. When asked about it, the elder Holmes said quietly, "He's not Sherlock. I don't need to worry so much."

This little stunt had definitely changed that.

Anthea wasn't as reticent as her boss. She reached Alexei before John did, her lovely face tight with anger, and grasped the boy's upper arm. "This is unacceptable," she declared. "You've given everyone a fright."

Alexei stared down at the place where her fingers dug into his sleeve. John thought he looked surprised and relieved: his eyes lowered and his assertiveness dropped several notches.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I will call Sherlock and Gregory and tell them I'm fine."

"No, I will do that while you explain yourself to John," Anthea said sharply. She released him and strode away a short distance, tapping at her Blackberry. "Then you're spending the rest of the weekend in your room."

"At Baker Street, it's technically John's room," Alexei said. He would have elaborated, but she turned around and favoured him with a glare that silenced him immediately.

John was both surprised and impressed: he was pretty sure that Anthea didn't have children, but she clearly knew how to handle them when they got out of line. Maybe she had younger siblings who'd forced her to play mother.

Something Alexei apparently needed right now.

John pointed to one of the plastic chairs that lined the corridor. Although desperate to rejoin Mycroft, this took priority. When Alexei sat, John crossed his arms and said, "I'm waiting."

"I knew where you were because I attached a GPS tracker to your coat last night. Before you left."

"What?" John rummaged in his pockets and patted his sides. "Where?"

"Under your collar."

"Damn." John found and extracted the small device, pricking his fingers on the pin in the process. As he pocketed it, he declared, "What were you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that Mycroft was drugged before he flew back to London yesterday."

That answer evaporated John's anger instantly. "What are you talking about?"

Alexei's eyes lit up, the way Sherlock's did when a deduction excited him. "After he fainted, when he was sitting on the sofa, he kept touching his right shoulder. Rubbing it. Didn't you notice?"